A Scarcity of Adventure
by knit-wear
Summary: Elizabeth returns to England only to find herself suffocating in London's high society. Much to her surprise a certain Pirate Captain shows up soon after, needing her help to get out of trouble and saving her from a tragically mundane fate. Sparrowbeth.
1. Prologue

A Scarcity of Adventure

Elizabeth returns to England to stay with her Aunt after Will chooses the Flying Dutchman over her. Much to her surprise a certain pirate captain shows up needing her help once more, and tries to coerce her back to the Caribbean. Early 1700s is when I'm sort of dating the film cause that's what the outfits look like and when the 'end of piracy' would have been.

Sparrabeth, cause come on. It's the only way.

X

Prologue.

X

Elizabeth sat down at her dressing table and sighed heavily at her reflection.

"Everything alright, mum?" Lily, the maid who was currently helping Elizabeth take down the vast birds nest of feathers and flowers and pins that adorned her honey coloured hair met Elizabeth's gaze in the looking glass and offered a meek smile. Elizabeth attempted to smile back but could only manage a slight twitch of her lips.

"Yes, fine," she murmured, setting a large feather that had been weighing down her head all that evening on the dressing table, her fingers gracing lightly over its stem.

"Did you have a nice night, mum?" Lily asked removing one final pin so Elizabeth's hair fell in heavy curls around her shoulders. "Was the Earl of Marlborough as 'andsome as they make him out to be?"

"Aye, and he bloody well knows it." Elizabeth snorted loudly and Lily's eyes widened in the mirror at her Lady's language. Elizabeth scuffled to correct herself, "I mean, yes quite handsome indeed."

She stood up and let Lily help her undress; first the thick, pale green and gold embroidered dress; then the petticoat and pannier, which fell off Elizabeth's hips onto the floor with a dull thud. Then at last the corset unlaced and set aside. Elizabeth exhaled and traced her fingers down her sides, hoping to God nothing had been broken. She had heard horror stories about what a corset laced too tight could do…. Elizabeth vastly preferred a billowy shirt and vest….

Upon returning to England several months earlier Elizabeth had found herself caught up in a world of noble parties and social affairs that seemed to be the primary purpose of existence for her Aunt and Uncle. Ridiculous dresses, tighter corsets than ever and of course the newest and most torturous fashion: panniers for the especially high toned and fancy to-dos. She hated it.

She hated London. She hated the parties. She hated nobility. She hated lacking freedom and adventure.

Oddly, most of all Elizabeth missed the sea. The taste of salt on her lips and the ocean breeze against her skin; the sun on her face and the knowledge that she was completely and utterly free.

And allowed to wear trousers.

Now she was nothing more than a paper doll to her family and society. She was now Lady Elizabeth Swann, the niece of the Earl of Derby and her mother's sister the Countess of Derby. And they were hell bent on finding her a suitable husband. Elizabeth sat down once more at her dressing table and stared at herself in the mirror. A different face than the one she had always known stared back sadly. This one was pale rather than tanned with red stained lips and vacant eyes. She hated this face more than anything.

At first, when Will had left with the Flying Dutchman she had been pleased; saddened, of course, yet pleased none the less that her husband had done the right thing in taking up the charge of ferrying those lost at sea. Upon returning to Port Royal she found her home a changed place. A new Governor, a new Commodore; none of the things she knew and loved were the same. Elizabeth briefly considered going to Tortuga to find Jack or Gibbs but knew it was unlikely she'd be lucky enough to find them again and come out of it alive.

So she had returned to England to live with her Aunt and Uncle in London. Though she insisted she was married to William Turner and she was now in fact Elizabeth Turner they simply laughed it off and assured her they would find her a suitable, noble, _real_ husband. It broke her heart. But she had very few choices in the matter.

The longer she remained in London the more her time on the Black Pearl seemed like a vague dream and Will seemed like a ghost.

Elizabeth suddenly jumped out of her seat and ran to the closet, knocking over a chair in the process. She threw open the doors of the wardrobe and dropped to her knees, suddenly frantic to see what she had agreed to protect. A wooden trunk sat at the back of the closet, partially covered by lengths of taffeta and silk dresses. Elizabeth threw herself upon the trunk and pushed the heavy lid open; inside were more frocks, old books and other trinkets she had brought with her from Port Royal. She pushed them aside, holding her breath as she carefully lifted the small, black chest from the depths of her trunk. She stared at it for a long while, unable to think or move or form a coherent thought.

Elizabeth's heart fluttered wildly as she lifted the lid easily and carefully looked inside. There it sat, locked away so solemnly. The still beating heart of William Turner, Captain of the Flying Dutchman.

Tears welled up in her eyes, making it difficult to see and Elizabeth quickly closed the chest and reburied it within her trunk. She slammed the doors to the closet shut and threw herself upon her bed, sobbing quietly into her pillow.

She missed Will. She missed the Black Pearl. She missed Jack. She even missed Pintle and Ragetti, sword fights, and rum.

Now all she had were feathers and flowers, and the delicate task of finding a suitable husband.

X

Note: So that's just an introduction to the whole thing. It's gonna be awesome, I swear!

Please drop me a review, they are ever so helpful and people are more likely to read it if there's loads of 'em!


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: don't own anything.

Note: Barbossa has the Black Pearl, but Jack, Gibbs, Marty and Cotton assembled a crew and got a ship. And chapter 2 is going to be when the Sparrabeth shows up in a BIG way. So please keep reading to hold out for that!

**A Scarcity of Adventure**

1.

Though it would of course be a dreadful shame to fall asleep during the middle of what could only be called, the dullest conversation of her entire life with the Marques of Sussex, Elizabeth was having a difficult time keeping her eyes open as he prattled on about hunting and dogs and his new estate near Farnborough. Apparently it was quite large and had twenty-eight servants and marble pillars imported from Greece. Not to mention it was the primary residence of his son, Lord Jonathan Whatling who was in fact, very good friends with the Prince of Wales and would one day become the Marques of Sussex himself.

Oh, and he was looking for a young wife.

The Marques looked up suddenly, "Ah! There's Jonathan now." He waved his son over and Elizabeth shut her eyes tight, praying that she would have the fortitude to bear yet another young man she would rather strangle than marry. Did no one understand that she was already married! Though even to her, the concept of being the wife of an immortal soul Ferrier was beginning to sound absurd. She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, trying to block out the unavoidable buzz of the room around her.

In fact, undead pirates cursed by Aztec gold. Davy Jones' Locker. The Kraken. Captain Jack Sparrow back from the dead. All of it seemed absurd. Captain Jack Sparrow was probably the most absurd of them all, she thought fondly.

"Are you alright, my Lady?" a cool, excessively posh voice interrupted Elizabeth from her melancholy thoughts. Her eyes snapped open and she saw that Jonathan Whatling had taken up his Father's seat next to her, offering a dazzling smile of straight white teeth and practically breathing self-obsessed-confidence and overtly constructed charm.

"Yes, thank you," Elizabeth adjusted the massive ostrich feather that decorated her hair that evening and attempted to smile back. She had met Whatling at numerous other social events such as this. He was by far one of the most pretentious people she knew of, exploiting his wealth and privilege of birth by doing absolutely nothing with his time other than shooting, going to parties and of course buying any expensive thing he could get his hands on. Including women.

Whatling leaned back in his chair and gave her an appraising smile. Elizabeth got the feeling he was under the impression that she should be appreciative to have him grace her with his presence. "So, I hear you only just returned from Port Royal this past spring?" he asked uninterestedly, examining a large ruby ring set in glittering gold that adorned his little finger. "That must have been dreadful."

"I don't mind ships." Elizabeth said faintly, grasping a glass of wine off a passing waiter and drinking half of it in one go.

"No, I meant the Caribbean, Miss Swann. Ghastly, out there, isn't it?" He pretended to shudder then flashed her another charming white smile.

Elizabeth frowned and adjusted her feather again. It felt as if her entire head were tipping slightly to the right side and her neck was hurting. Not to mention sitting in a pannier and corset was next to impossible; the wires and fabric dug into her thighs and hips and Elizabeth was sure she'd have bruises in the morning. She drained the rest of the glass of wine and fixed Whatling with an impenetrable stare that she'd learned from Barbossa and hoped it might scare him off.

"I rather love the Caribbean," she said stiffly.

Whatling snorted, "Which part? The insufferable heat, the insufferable servants or the natives?"

Rather than answering Elizabeth craned her neck back to find a waiter. "You haven't got any rum, have you?" she asked as one passed by. He shook his head but offered her another glass of red wine which she took reluctantly. Some Rum may have made the situation a touch more tolerable. "Why is the rum always gone," she sighed forlornly, sipping the wine and attempting to ignore Whatling blather on about his experience in the Caribbean.

"Rum?" Whatling asked, wrinkling his nose. "What, the sailor drink?"

"Aye," she said, looking around for another waiter.

Whatling chuckled, "Aye?" he repeated, "My dear, you did spend too much time down there with those, scally woggles or whatever they're called. I say, I was meaning to ask you—Would you come to see my speech in town tomorrow? I'm running for office as I'm sure you know, and need to speak to those dreadful commoners. Make them think they count and all that lark."

_Oh bugger, it is about marriage_, Elizabeth thought, looking around the ballroom for one of her cousins and hoping to come up with an excuse to escape. She only saw her eldest cousin, Anne sitting down the table discussing something with the Duchess of Kent with an intent frown upon her face. As if by chance, but more likely conspiracy they both happened to shift their gaze down the table towards Elizabeth at the same time. She felt a shock run through her and then looked for her Aunt and Uncle, who were sitting talking with the Marques of Norwich and sending their niece furtive glances every now and then.

_Oh bugger, bugger, bugger. _They were going to force her into this, weren't they.

Elizabeth could not help but feel trapped as she listened to Whatling go on and on about his Lordship and what he intended to do for England and the nobility and of course, the marble he'd imported from Greece. She continued to stare desperately around the ballroom, only seeing swaths of colour and expensive jewelry, wigs and lace, feathers and golden brocade, all glittering and shining under thousands of candles set in massive crystal chandeliers high up in the ceiling.

She turned around in time to grasp the nearest waiter by the wrist, feeling like she could do with some rum more than ever. "Excuse me—"

Elizabeth's eyes widened when the waiter looked down at her, a grin pulling at the right side of his rosy, bearded face. Twinkling blue eyes peered down at her from under the jauntily placed white wig with its curled edges slightly askew. The memorable scent of rum permeated the badly fitted servant's coat; the buttons straining to keep shut across his wide belly. She would recognize that face anywhere. "Mr—"

But before she could finish the thought the man she was certain was Mr. Gibbs was off, moving through the glittering crowd in a slightly zig-zig pattern that would suggest questionable sobriety. Elizabeth watched him go, her mouth wide open in shock with Whatling still prattling on in her ear. She tried to process what she'd seen, or what she'd thought she'd seen in any case. How could Gibbs possibly be in London? At a party? Dressed as a servant? Disregarding the how—more importantly _why_? Or was she just going mad?

Not worrying about her appearance and not caring if she had made Gibbs up in her own mind, Elizabeth clambered out of her chair and tore off after Gibbs through the throng of well dressed nobility. Her heels clattered loudly against the marble floors as she attempted to move as quickly as possible under all the material and adornments of her dress. She would have torn it all off if it were a more simple affair but it would take at least two people to get her out of the ensemble. She scowled at the thought; she was even trapped by her own frock.

Gibbs disappeared from view through a set of tall doors and she strode after him, ignoring the stares of the two servants on either side of her.

If Gibbs was there that meant Jack would be there with the Black Pearl and the rest of the crew! But why would they come all the way to England for her? What could Jack possibly want? Elizabeth's mind rushed with every conceivable reason that Jack Sparrow would seek her out but could not come up with any that could be real. Not that anything to do with Jack Sparrow seemed real or reasonable but rather ardently, thrillingly, fantastically mad and absurd. That was his charming claim over her anyway.

Elizabeth found her mouth curling up at the side. The thought of Jack being in London made her chest tighten with happiness. Maybe he had come to save her? For the first time in months she felt chills of excitement roll down her spine. Images of Jack Sparrow flooded her memory, everything from his worn, sun stained red scarf to the occasional look of secret, mischievous triumph glittering in his black eyes when his _unique_ compass pointed somewhere significant.

But it was one singular memory of Jack that she carried with her above all others. One that seemed reluctant to leave her mind and brought a smirk to her face whenever she allowed her thoughts to drift to that day on the Black Pearl when the Kraken took down the ship and Jack with it. She wasn't sure why this one stuck with her, perhaps it was because of her treachery in the matter—which he'd eventually forgiven and seemed to rather admire her for. Maybe she simply enjoyed the feeling of Jack Sparrow's warm salty lips sliding against her own. Scandalous though that might be, it seemed more likely.

As if he were in front of her now Elizabeth could imagine those kohl rimmed eyes gazing down at her with a mixture of emotions swimming in their black depths… victory, befuddlement, apprehension, lust….

Elizabeth flung herself into the hallway outside of the ballroom and stumbled to a stop in the wide empty space, her gown swinging around her and propelling her forward. She frowned. The gilded corridor was dismayingly vacant aside from more servants. "Did you see a man come out here?" she demanded from one of them desperately. He shook his head, his eyes widening at her apparent state of distress. "Are you sure?" she asked the servant next to him.

"No, ma'am. I haven't."

Elizabeth's heart fell and she suddenly felt very cold and alone. They had not come for her. She was imagining things. The thought of Captain Jack Sparrow and his crew of scallywags seeking her out was far too absurd—even by Jack Sparrow standards—to be reality. The confused kohl rimmed eyes disappeared from her consciousness, replaced by stinging disappointment and unbearable thoughts of what marrying Lord Jonathan Whatling would be like.

It was her fault to begin with, her fault for not going to Tortuga or staying in Port Royal or doing anything but running back to England, frightened by the prospect of being alone in the Caribbean.

She would have stomped her foot or kicked a wall or done something to take out her frustration at the obvious lack of pirates but her cousin Anne and Jonathan Whatling appeared behind her, both with concerned and embarrassed looks on their faces. Elizabeth glanced at them sadly, a crushing wave of grief spilling over her when she realized she must have imagined it. Imagined Gibbs and the others coming to save from her from her lonely, miserable fate as a Lady. Imagined the prospect of Jack coming to find her.

"Elizabeth, are you ill?" Anna asked, still frowning. Her hands fluttered around Elizabeth's face and neck, feeling for a fever or a chill in her cousin's flushed skin.

Whatling stepped forward and grasped Elizabeth's arm protectively. "Come along my Lady. Shall we dance? That might help take a bit of the—er—effects of the wine off."

She let him draw her back into the ballroom, her arm hanging loose in his grip, her hair and dress feeling heavier than ever. Chancing one last glimpse over her shoulder, Elizabeth saw nothing but the empty marble hallway lined with servants in their vibrant red coats and white wigs. _Am I going insane?_ She wondered as Whatling dragged her into the circle of dancing couples. Her feet followed the steps of some remarkably sullen dance and Whatling twirled her around, seeming very pleased with himself for managing to get her to succumb to his will.

Elizabeth swallowed heavily, turning around and kicking her left foot out to one side and then turning again in the opposite direction, Whatling's hand clutching at her fingers so tightly her knuckles cracked under the pressure. Whatling was now going on about the speech he needed to give in Westminster about voting and war or some such thing that would give him more power in the House of Lords than he already had. Elizabeth found it excessively dull yet agreed to come along and watch anyway. Apparently there was to be a most fantastic party afterwards at Lady Irena Spencer's home in Kensington afterwards. Perhaps most of the reason people would be inclined to attend the speech was the prospect of the party rather than the prospect of progressive politics.

After escaping from Whatling Elizabeth excused herself and begged absence from the rest of the evening, claiming a headache. She went out to wait for their carriage while the rest of her family chose to remain and socialize. Elizabeth felt if she socialized any longer she would have to kill herself.

The carriage pulled up quietly next to the curb and Elizabeth climbed inside and fell back against the dark velvet cushions, her heart feeling as if it were slowly shriveling into nothingness the more she thought about the lack of freedom and what her suffocated life would be like when she married Whatling. It was inevitable, she should accept it. London wasn't like Port Royal, where she could stave off the Commodore's proposal of marriage and insist on a blacksmith instead. Oh no, here they made marriage seem as important as life or death.

Dim moonlight streamed in through the carriage window as it left the house and started down the cobble stone street towards her Aunt and Uncle's home. She let her head loll back and forth against the seat with the rocking of the carriage and she spread her hands out along the seat cushions, digging her nails into the soft fabric and momentarily letting herself imagine what would have happened if Jack and the Pearl had been there to take her away from all of this.

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from crying as her thoughts strayed to Will's departure and the way Jack simply abandoned her as if she meant nothing to him either. Her fingers splayed out against the velvet seats, rubbing the soft fabric compulsively while biting back tears until her fingertips briefly grazed over something rough and solid amongst a sea of velvet.

Elizabeth slowly relaxed her jaw and hesitantly stretched her hand farther along the seat until she felt it. A small, wooden thing about the size of her palm. It was impossible to see what it was in the murky darkness of the carriage, but her hand closed over it curiously, dragging it close to her face and leaning towards the moonlight glazed window.

Her lips parted in surprise as she examined the small object. It was like holding a piece of the past or something similarly surreal.

It was Jack's compass.

xx

For three days after the ball Elizabeth must have opened the compass and stared at its' quivering needle over a thousand times at least. It was always pointing south; what that meant, she had no idea other than that there was potentially something her heart desired above else in a southwardly direction.

Upon returning home from the party she had considered changing out of her ridiculous dress, stealing a horse and running away to find whatever it was the compass was pointing towards. That idea soon left her when she realized things were never as easy as finding a compass that points to the thing you want most, a compass that should have been by all rights somewhere on a ship in a the Caribbean—then using said compass to find whatever it was she needed to find in order to get out of London. If she'd learned anything about things seeming a little bit too easy it was because there was normally something sinister going on. Not just a ship waiting in the Thames to take her to Jack. And even if there were where the hell was she supposed to go? Pirating?

It was a possibility.

Nevertheless she sat now between her cousins Mary and Lydia, swaying back and forth with the movement of the carriage as they traveled to Westminster for Jonathan Whatling's speech. Mary and Lydia, who were both younger than Elizabeth and generally obsessed with making advantageous marriages to handsome, wealthy men, thought Elizabeth must have been mildly insane to not be thrilled at the prospect of marrying Whatling. She refrained from arguing with them and settled for playing with the compass. It was pointing straight ahead. What did that mean?

Outside it was blindingly sunny and all the ladies and Countesses held small parasols to keep the sun off their faces. Elizabeth's was pale yellow with thick silver embroidery and a lace trim to match her dress. Today her corset was laced as tightly as ever but frighteningly enough, Elizabeth realized she was getting used to not being able to breathe properly. That did not seem to be a good sign.

She followed her cousins and aunt up a narrow ramp to a little pavilion where people of varying degrees of nobility stood fluttering their fans and sipping their brandies delicately amongst brightly dressed servants carrying trays. A small stage had been set out and a slowly growing crowd of Londoners had gathered around it out of curiosity. Whatling stood nearby looking bored, presumably about the banality of having to interact with the public where his politics were concerned. He caught Elizabeth's eye and smirked at her in a way that made her shudder unpleasantly and pull the compass out again. The needle swung towards the crowd of commoners and she sighed. _Big surprise there._

Eventually Whatling began his speech and Elizabeth stood sullenly with her parasol and her brandy whilst listening to her aunt and the Countess of Warrington go on about the horrific time the Countess had had with the French servants whilst on holiday in Nice. Elizabeth swallowed every snide remark that threatened to burst from her lips and felt slightly nauseous because of it. She realized with maddening self-awareness that she was in fact loosing herself. No matter how different she was from those women, or how staunchly she refused to become like them, she was ever so slowly loosing herself and becoming a quiet, melancholy hopeless wretch obsessed with a broken compass.

Was it as hopeless as all of that? She had no where to go.

"Good people, I would like to thank you all personally for coming out today—I am Lord Jonathan Whatling and I wanted to speak with you regarding—" Blah Blah Blah. Whatling went on for a while about reforms and voting and such like, not that half of the commoners had any idea what he was on about, nor did they care. Most of them simply watched the well dressed ladies standing nearby.

Elizabeth snapped open Jack's compass and stared at the quivering needle. It spun left in a full circle before stopping straight ahead. Her brow furrowed and she looked up in time to see a streak of turquoise and yellow arc over the crowd of Londoners' heads before diving back down beneath their depths. She squinted and stared at the place where the colour had disappeared among the sea of people when suddenly it shot back up again and she knew at once it was Cotton's parrot.

"Are you quite alright Elizabeth?" Her Aunt asked, touching Elizabeth's sleeve lightly. "Here dear, cover your face with your parasol a bit more, you don't want to get any colour."

The parrot did a few circles over the crowd of people and then disappeared again. Was Cotton there? Elizabeth felt so frustrated she could feel tears pricking at the backs of her eyes and strained to keep from sobbing in anger. Was she imagining things again? Cotton's parrot at a political rally. Gibbs dressed as a server at a party. Jack's compass mysteriously showing up in her carriage. Was she deceiving herself or was something actually going on?

Just then two shots rang out.

Several women in the crowd screamed at the unexpected sound of gun fire and a few soldiers in red coats stepped forward, their swords drawn. Meanwhile the gathering of high society behind the small stage all seemed to freeze with their brandies and their fans in mid motion, their eyes and mouths opening wide in shock as they all simultaneously wondered what to do. For his part, Whatling threw himself off the end of the stage behind a pair of redcoats looking terrified by the sounds of the pistols.

Another scream and another shot went off followed by a scuffle. Elizabeth tried to see what was going on but could only glimpse a group of men wrestling near the front of the stage before she was nudged out of the way by a frantic Marquess of Sussex. "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," she chanted, clutching at her parasol. Elizabeth growled under her breath and tried to shove the Marquess out of the way to see what was going on. There was more shooting now and the clang of swords and the nobles did the only thing they could; move further back away from the commoners.

"Elizabeth! Where are you going!" Mary gasped, watching her cousin push through the crowd of their peers towards the commotion amongst the commoners.

Whatling came barreling towards her off his small stage, abject terror scrawled across his face as he practically shoved Elizabeth to one side in order to get past her. She moved and managed to see again that the redcoats were now fighting three very dirty, very scraggly, very tanned men wearing billowy shirts and clunky boots with their swords drawn. No one had been struck down yet but the commotion was ridiculous. One of the men looked up at Elizabeth and she felt her fingers clench around the stem of her parasol when she saw recognition flash across his open, gullible face.

He shoved past a redcoat and started up the ramp towards them. Lady Cavendish screamed and some of the braver men stepped forward; Whatling grabbed Elizabeth's wrist and tried to pull her back but she wrestled it from his grip and kept her gaze on the man—whom she was sure must have been a pirate—she just wasn't sure what side he was on. She walked forward with her chin held high, wishing she could run and wishing she had a pistol or a sword instead of a bloody parasol. But she was not afraid. She could probably do more with a parasol than most of the soldiers could do with a sword anyway.

"Miss Swa—" the pirate started to say, pointing his sword at her but two soldiers jumped up onto the ramp and started swinging their weapons at him, backing him down the ramp. Elizabeth found herself trying to run after them, suddenly desperate to know what he had been about to say. It was clear he knew who she was. Even if he was a bad pirate she would consider being kidnapped for some horrible purpose inevitably involving immortality as a better alternative to another day wearing a corset and knowing that she would soon be forced to marry Whatling.

So she lifted her skirts and trotted after them down the ramp as best as she could, her pannier bouncing around her hips nearly painfully. "How do you know me!" she demanded over the shoulder of a redcoat.

"Lady Swann!"

"Elizabeth come back!"

"Oh God, what's wrong with her!"

"Elizabeth!"

The redcoat nearest to her turned around to look at her, completely bewildered and without thinking Elizabeth pulled back her fist and decked him as hard as she could. He yelped at threw his hands up to his face, dropping his sword which she caught deftly and managed to point at the unknown pirate despite a severe inability to move the lower half of her body.

He laughed, his gullible face twisting with understanding as she swung at him. "Aye, Miss Swann we is tryin' ta get 'old of ye," he snickered suddenly and swung back at her. Their swords clashed and she managed to hold her own despite her obvious handicap. He seemed to grow more amused at the fact that she knew how to handle a sword. "Oi, miss we ain't gonna 'urt ye!" he insisted, grinning.

"Who sent you," she was pushing him down the ramp into the cloud of redcoats. The other two pirates were still having a go with them and seemed perfectly content to fight and mock the British soldiers.

"I ain't exactly gonna be tellin' ye that now, is I Missus. Jus' come wiv' us, ooright?" He insisted.

Elizabeth scoffed, "Why would I do that?"

Someone threw their arms around Elizabeth's waist then, and hauled her backwards away from the fight. She kicked and struggled, demanding to be put down but only succeeded in dropping her sword. She wanted to fight, she wanted to wield a sword and feel in control of the situation. Not to mention, those three pirates knew her and wanted something from her. So maybe it wasn't all a coincidence after all. But even so, it might not have anything to with Jack at all, they might have just managed to get a hold of his compass. Her mind continued to spin as she was pulled away from the brawl. It looked like the three strange pirates had given up and opted for the noblest of pirate traditions; running away as the took off through the crowd. All hell was in the process of breaking loose.

It turned out Whatling was the one who had dragged her away and he was now panting and staring at her, completely bewildered by her actions. She could tell he wanted to say something to the effect of _what the hell is wrong with you?!_ But instead opted for addressing the entire group over the dimming sounds of sword fighting, "I rather think its time to head towards Lady Chelsea's party—"

Xx

To call the party a gross waste of time and life would be an understatement.

Elizabeth managed to escape Whatling only to be swallowed up in inane discussions on dresses and men by a group of eligible young ladies who also seemed to think she was quite lucky in catching the affections of Whatling. Then she found the most suitable company at the party; Colonel Walter Ashby, a mostly deaf, rather senile and very drunk old man whom everyone knew as The Colonel. And frankly, Elizabeth found that listening to him go on about war stories in France that didn't require much response on her end made for much better discussion than any other she could find at the party.

Whatling tracked her down nonetheless, "Hello, Miss Swann. How are you feeling now that you've had a chance to calm down from today's… exertions…"

Elizabeth looked at him with exasperation. Apparently in taking up a sword and engaging a pirate she'd caused a scandal which her Aunt and Uncle found utterly humiliating. She felt like telling them all to go to hell, and that if they thought that was bad they should have seen her kiss a pirate in order to handcuff him to a sinking ship—after a lot of sword fighting and running around in trousers. They'd probably all faint from the lack of propriety.

"I need to go," she said, standing abruptly and suddenly feeling if she did not leave the party she would be sick or faint or otherwise some other bad thing would happen. She was at her wits end and could only hope going home and having the maid help her out of her dress would perhaps ease some of her suffering. But it wasn't the dress, and it wasn't the party and it wasn't the fact that she wasn't even allowed to protect herself with a sword. Elizabeth was not made for that world, not the people in it nor what they considered important. It was like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole.

There didn't appear to be anything like a square hole in her life.

Elizabeth huffed under her breath, spotting her aunt on the other side of the room; she intended to take the carriage home one way or another, even if it meant stealing it. Her Aunt had a hard time keeping the disappointment out of her expression when Elizabeth complained of a headache, knowing full well it was simply because her niece despised these kinds of parties for some reason. Just like she did not appreciate what a fantastic match Lord Whatling was.

Elizabeth dragged her feet as she left the house, wallowing in melancholy once again and waited for the footman to open the carriage door for her. She took his hand and lifted her skirts before ducking her head into the dark compartment. The door closed behind her and she fell back into the seat heavily, the urge to cry sweeping over her once again.

"Y'all right, luv?"

Elizabeth sucked in a deep breath and would have screamed had it not been for the warm, salty hand that closed over her mouth in time to silence her. Another hand curled into her hair and pulled her head around so she was close enough to see two sparkling black eyes rimmed in kohl looking at her with amused secrecy.

Jack grinned crookedly, a flash of gold in the dimly lit carriage. "Nice dress, Lizzie."

X

Note: So, huzzah! Jack shows up to explain stuff and all the goodness can start. Lots of Sparrowbeth next.

Thank you to those of you who reviewed and to everyone else who took the time to read!

Please drop me a review if you'd like, they're always very helpful.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Elizabeth made a valiant effort to twist out of Jack's grasp but he held her firmly against his chest. He chuckled quietly and pulled her closer.

"You're not going to scream are you?" he asked softly, his lips ghosting across her pale cheek. His hand slid slowly and deliberately away from her mouth and down her throat, his fingers tracing a soft line across her lips before settling upon her shoulders.

"Jack!" Elizabeth gasped softly, unable to gather her thoughts. "How did you get here?"

He shrugged and removed his arms almost reluctantly from her waist so she could turn to face him in the darkness. There was a soft tinkle of bells as the coachman shook the reins and the horses started forward with a lurch. Jack simply grinned crookedly at her, his kohl rimmed eyes shimmering with mystery.

"Oh, you know me love. Bein' a pirate I'm quite good at keepin' within the shadows or what have ye."

"Yes but," she pressed her lips together and craned her neck to glance at the darkened streets of London passing by the window. Jack's hand fell against her thigh, and with quite obvious intention lifted her skirts a few inches before she slapped him away.

"But why are you here?" She stared at him curiously, her mind racing.

He sighed dramatically. "Looking for a ship, naturally," he said with a spastic flourish of his left hand.

Elizabeth frowned, adjusting her skirts "But the Black Pearl--- oh never mind, you've lost it to Barbossa again, haven't you."

Jack pouted and cast his eyes towards the windows. "Ye always assume the worst Lizzy."

"Uh huh," Elizabeth muttered dryly, "It's always the worst with you Captain Sparrow."

"Well," he shrugged, dragging his eyes back to her face. "Not that I'm saying you're right, but yes, Barbossa has once again stolen _my_ ship."

"Frankly Jack, I'm sure he's had the Black Pearl longer than you've ever had it."

"That's a very mean thing to say, Lizzy." Jack sniffed, looking put out by her comments.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "What happened, Jack."

"Well, as it happened the ship we'd commandeered in Tortuga got into a bit of a scuffle—if you will—down off the coast of Spain. Lost the ship and ah—ended up imprisoned once again." He smiled sheepishly at the frown that covered Elizabeth's expression. He sat up a bit straighter and shook a finger at her. "It was a very nice prison actually. In France. People always give the French such a hard time but they do have rather lovely prisons in my experience and—"

"Jack," Elizabeth sighed, exasperated.

"Well, anyway, Gibbs and a few of me crew and meself got out and found ourselves on boat to _Angleterre_ as it were, and I figured I'd look you up." His dark eyes softened for a moment and he searched her face for a reaction. "Heard from someone in Port Royal that you'd ended up back here."

Elizabeth's face melted into an almost wistful expression as she gazed back into Jack's eyes. She felt her pulse begin to race as thoughts flooded her tired mind. Jack was sitting in front of her! Jack, not Whatling, not her Aunt or Uncle or the Marquis of bloody Marlborough. Just Jack. And possibly an adventure if she was lucky.

"And anyway, I Cotton's parrot missed you." He said, shrugging wildly. "Don't know what's wrong with the thing. I don't think Europe agrees with 'im—Oi, what's wrong with you now?"

Elizabeth's eyes had welled up with tears and she pressed her hands to her eyes. "Oh Jack, I was so hoping you would come for me!" she cried quietly.

"Oh, luv, don't cry now." Jack grimaced and patted her on the back awkwardly. "Come on, now."

Elizabeth sat up properly and tried to look indifferent but could only manage to start crying again. "Oh, Jack!" she threw herself at him, her slim arms curling around his neck, her face buried into his tattered scarlet jacket. "It's so _terrible_ here." She moaned.

"Well, bloody hell, Lizzie why'd ye come back?" His hand moved to her waist, his fingers toying almost unconsciously with the strings of her corset through the thick material of her dress.

She sniffed and pulled away from his embrace. "Because Will had—" She shut her eyes for a moment, collecting herself, and when she looked at him he was peering curiously at her, one eyebrow raised. Without thinking, Elizabeth grabbed Jack's shoulders and smashed her lips against his. Jack made a soft sound that maybe sounded like a weak "No." but Elizabeth kept her lips pressed stubbornly against his. Realizing she wasn't going to let go or slap him, Jack opened his mouth against hers, deepening the kiss and pulling her close.

For a few seconds they kissed in silence until in attempt to crawl into his lap, Elizabeth's pannier managed to swing into Jack's stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

"Oh, bloody fucking shite hell bollocks," he moaned leaning back and whining pitifully.

Elizabeth clasped her hands to her mouth and tried not to laugh but it was futile. "God, I'm so sorry."

"No you're not," Jack wheezed, shoving her off his person completely. "Bloody hell woman, everytime I kiss you I wind up dead or in pain."

"You'll get over it." Elizabeth said dryly.

"Right," Jack said after recovering from his injury. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"What, now?" Her eyebrows arched with surprise and she found herself inching closer to Jack again, amused as he eyes her dress warily.

"Yeah—get on out." He waved a hand at the door and when she hesitated he said, "Bloody hell Lizzy, I thought you were meant to be a pirate."

Elizabeth glared at him, though her lips could not help but curl into a smirk. She opened the still moving carriage door and fixed Jack with a superior stare. "After you Captain Sparrow."

He looked at her and then at the passing London streets, and hurled himself out the door. Elizabeth took a deep breath, watching him roll and stumble against the cobble stones before shutting her eyes and throwing herself out of the carriage as well.

--

Tis short but I felt like giving y'all something to enjoy. More to come, I swear!

Thank you for all the REVIEWS!!!!! More are always welcome. I do love them so, I'm not sure why. Perhaps its just my ego. xx


End file.
